


Couldn't

by TempestuousJones



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Abduction, And So So Sorry To Do This To Jack, Angst, Grief, Home Invasion, I Am So Sorry To Do This To Spencer, Loss, Lots of Angst, M/M, Not A Happy Ending, Other Criminal Minds Characters - Freeform, Possible Season 12 Spoilers, Rossi POV, S12 What-If, Season 12 What-If, Secret Relationship, The BAU Team - Freeform, Underage Victims Of Violent Crime, Victims Of Violent Crime, missing person, s12, season 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 20:23:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8223694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempestuousJones/pseuds/TempestuousJones
Summary: The aftermath of violence at the Hotchner household. And the penny drops for Rossi.





	

**Author's Note:**

> HARD TRIGGER WARNINGS: Home invasion, abduction, assault, aftermath of violence and loss, victims of violent crime, underage victim of violent crime, grief, loss. 
> 
> SPOILERS: Takes place early in upcoming S12. Spoilers and assumed reader knowledge of details of the entire run of the show. Assumes reader knowledge of cast changes. 
> 
> NOTE: This work is beta’d only by myself. I don’t really like commas or parentheses as much as it seems. I wrote this in August shortly after the news about a significant casting change. As of this posting (which I wanted to do before the show started but now looks like I’m nose to nose with episode 2) I still haven’t heard how he will exit the show, but this is one idea I have.

COULDN’T

 

ROSSI WATCHED the LEOs sweep through Aaron’s yard, around the back. The dark of the neighborhood was washed with flashing blue and red lights, neighbors watching from the windows, some giving statements on what they may have seen and heard. There was the chatter and crackle of police radios filling the space around them. Rossi saw Will gently taking Reid’s side arm from him, into an evidence bag, softly talking to Reid; as close as he and JJ were it made sense that he had also grown close to Will, a brother when Morgan couldn’t be (on his honeymoon; he would need to be called soon). 

Tucked into Reid’s left side was Jack, holding tight to Reid’s left arm with a death-grip. Rossi studied Jack with deep sympathy; he had no idea how Jack was going to cope with this, at this age, *again*, until he reminded himself that the boy was very much his father’s son. But he didn’t find comfort in that, not really. He knew Aaron too well. 

And Reid was tight as a bowstring, overly alert, even as he conversed with Will in a calm, professional manner. But then he faltered for a moment, glancing around quickly, and it was then Rossi noticed the crack in his glasses, the bruising and abrasions and split lip and broken skin on his knuckles, and the thin trail of blood splatter across Reid’s chest and face, even a bit on the corner of his glasses. With the hand that wasn’t holding Reid’s gun, Will reached up and gave his shoulder a brief squeeze, then did the same to Jack. And then Rossi noticed blood spray on Jack too, the front of his shoulders and face. Seeing the two of them standing side by side he could clearly trace the complete arc of the blood across the two of them. 

Reid, in a gun fight (plausible), *and a fist fight* (inconceivable!), and Aaron just *gone*. The world was clearly coming apart at the seams. Rossi dragged a hand down his face. What in God’s name had happened here tonight? 

Here. Tonight. Jack , in his pajamas and bare feet, squashed tight into Spencer’s side. And then he noticed Reid’s feet, also bare, and long legs also clad in pajamas, and his gaze followed the stripes up to a Yale (not Cal-Tech) tee shirt that was too big in the shoulders and his eyes stopped when they reached the blood again.   
Rossi pondered this for a moment, puzzled that, as close as he was to Aaron, and as long as he’d known all of them, he was unaware of this. It must have been something new. He wondered if the CSIs would find a go-bag with Reid’s things in it. 

Then, in the course of the conversation with Will, Rossi thought he heard Jack call Reid “Poppa” (and it had to be Reid, because Aaron had *always* been “Daddy” or more recently, simply “Dad”), and then he re-evaluated and mentally crossed out the go-bag. This had been going on for some time. 

While the CSIs were looking for clues to Aaron’s abduction, they would find indicators of Reid’s presence. Rossi could picture it: In the closet, they would find half the clothes would be Aaron’s and the other half would be too long in the limbs and too narrow in the shoulders. Contacts and cleaning solution and an empty eyeglass case and migraine medications Aaron did not need. A short stack of sobriety coins on the dresser that weren’t Aarons either. Shelves of books on mathematics and engineering, Arthurs C. Clark and Conan Doyle, books that were not Aarons. His were law and public administration and Stephen King. They would have psychology and criminology in common. There would be DVDs, lots of them, Pixar and super heroes and Reid’s massive collection of Dr. Who and Star Trek; they would have Star Wars in common. The kitchen cabinets would have more junk food in them (sweet, not salty) than Aaron was comfortable with, in deference to Reid (which he probably shared with Jack, but not Aaron). 

Would they find Reid’s collection of letters? Did he keep them here? His letters to his mother. And Meave. Were there also letters to Aaron? Is that how this started?   
Rossi choked back a sob of helpless rage at the violations on their very private person-hoods they had endured *twice* tonight (the Invasion, then the CSIs), and still more to come: the gathering of evidence *from their bodies*, blood and hair and fiber and God knew what else, sampled much like a rape kit, complete with photos. And then official statements made to the police, and Rossi desperately hoped it would be Will taking them and not some stranger. And then the forensics on Reid’s side arm, fired here in a house that was known only to be Aaron’s, but Aaron wasn’t here anymore, and apparently Reid was. 

And then the conversations, perhaps difficult ones, with the team, full of revelation and exposure, so much, maybe too much, for a very private person like Reid, who hadn’t even told anyone about Maeve. And this would be about a relationship with his *male boss*. And how they kept it a secret from the people they professed to love and trust. 

And then, after all they had endured and lost over the years, then they would all have to cope with *this*, this gaping abyss of howling loss.   
Rossi pulled himself back to the present, his attention back on the three of them talking, and sensed the comfort radiating from Will and re-evaluated again. He was fairly certain that JJ and Will had to know, if only because Henry and Jack played together and talked a lot. And Spencer baby sat both of them, too, and kids could be very wise.

And then JJ was there, touching her husband, then Jack, then Spencer, reassuring them, reassuring herself, and it sounded like she was telling them she had contacted Jessica and the ambulance was on its way to take them to the hospital.

 

And then it was, and then they were. Spencer and Jack were being examined. Reid was with Jack through it all, because apparently Spencer was on record having medical power of attorney and guardianship over Jack, which meant Garcia had to know too, because keeping those records was her job. Jessica was with them too, bless her, that woman deserved her very own shrine: all the time she had spent waiting for them in emergency rooms, caring for Jack as an Aunt and stand-in Mother, a true Sister to Hotch, closer to him than his own brother, more than just a Sister-In-Law, especially when the rest of the Brooks family turned on him after Haley’s murder, blaming him. She brought a change of clothes for them with her. Rossi decided it was a fairly safe bet she knew about Hotch and Reid too.

Sometime later, after more interviews and phone calls with Garcia and the Director, the team was getting Jessica, Jack, and Spencer settled into a safe house. It wasn’t clear if it was only Aaron who was targeted, or his family (“Poppa”; Rossi was still trying to wrap his head around that), or the team; and on that note, Rossi called Prentiss in London. 

He gave her the news, and a warning, and then The News, and even in her shock and grief she had chuckled and told him she wondered if that would ever get going, because, she told him, even though everyone thought Reid was into small blondes, what he really liked (and there was a dramatic pause here) was tall elegant brunettes. And this made Rossi *really* start to wonder, but maybe she was just yanking his chain. Maybe. But he couldn’t stop from thinking about Texas, and how she and Reid had been like after that, with each other. 

He needed to re-evaluate what he thought he knew about Reid. 

He just needed to talk to Reid, period. Not just as his Boss, but as his Friend. He felt completely inadequate as both. 

He stalled on that, while he called Morgan. He was rightfully pissed that he hadn’t been called sooner, and as angry as he was getting, Rossi thought it was best to stick to business, report the facts of the crime, the need for a safe house, and a warning to watch out for himself and Savannah too, and ended the call before Morgan could sort out the why’s of Spencer’s presence at the Hotchner household (assuming Morgan didn’t know yet, although Rossi was beginning to think *he* was the only one who didn’t). 

And then he called Blake; she had been close to Reid, had know before the others about Maeve. He warned her too, and talked details, and when he described the crime scene with Reid and Jack he heard her say “Ah”, in confirmation, as if she had suspected something. 

After his phone calls were over, he realized he could not put this off any longer. Jack and Jessica were sleeping (or trying to) upstairs, but not Spencer. Rossi found him sitting alone in the dim early morning light in the kitchen. His face was bruised, and there was tape on his knuckles (*Reid* in a *fist fight*; Rossi would never be able to process that). He was wearing the spare clothes Jessica brought him, but not his glasses; she apparently couldn’t find another pair. They had taken those too, into evidence, Rossi realized, and his contacts were still at the house, behind crime scene tape. So, great, the kid had to go through this blind, too, unless he had extras in his apartment (did he even still have the apartment?) or maybe at work. He would call Garcia again.

Reid’s gaze was a million miles away, his thumbs digging into the crooks of his arms (and the old, faded scars there), and around the left one was a large bruise; Rossi’s mind flew back to earlier that night and the grip Jack had on Spencer’s arm. And again he re-evaluated. The grip hadn’t only been in fear, exactly, but also a desperate reminder to stay here, with him, and not leave him, too. Not a death grip, but one of life. In his own way, even while seeking comfort, Jack had given comfort in return. A protector in his core, like his father.

And his memories of Aaron rose up inside him then, vivid and alive, this strong, brave, stoic man who he had mentored and loved almost like a son. And now he sat before the man that Aaron had given his heart to, when there had been no one he’d ever trusted with it except Haley. He regarded Spencer, this man-child, almost feral in his grief, who had come to represent hearth, and home, and safety, and sex to Aaron, and Rossi felt small. 

He let out a long, shuddering breath before speaking. “I feel like the world’s shittiest profiler, and an even worse friend.”

Reid regarded him for a long moment, digging his thumbs into his arms, his whole being raw and quiet, too quiet, seemingly finally talked out, which could’ve been funny; but it wasn’t, it was frightening and unnatural and a vivid sign of how awful things really were. 

After a couple of dry, raw-throated starts, Reid responded. “No, you and the rest of the team are the world’s best. But so are Hotch and I, so we knew how to cover it. You guys are all so nosy, and there might have been issues with regulations about fraternization, and this was just too *good for us*. After all we go through in this fucking job, we just wanted this, for us, for now, to have … something good. It was selfish of us, I suppose, not to tell the whole team (besides JJ and Garcia), but this was something we really needed.” 

“Shelter from the storm”, and Rossi smiled, nodded his understanding, remembering how close the two of them sat together on the plane, even watching each other (or perhaps watching over each other) sleep, and now a lot of little things were clicking into place. 

Better late than never. 

Reid continued. “We also… and don’t take this the wrong way, but—well, good or bad, the reactions from the team can be… overwhelming. And it’s not just me who thinks so.” 

Rossi thought of how reluctant Aaron had been to meet new women after Haley, and how awkward (almost as bad as Spencer) he was when he finally did, mostly as a result of Rossi’s cajoling and prodding; he had chalked it up to lingering grief and “back in the saddle” jitters. Now he realized he had only ever loved Haley, and now Reid. There had been no others like them.

“Oh, shit. When I first came back to the BAU I busted Aaron watching you, and I teased him. I think I told him to stop making googley eyes at you.” 

“I’m sure that helped a lot.”

There was a long pause while Rossi mulled over his revelation about Jack tonight. “I’m wondering when this all started exactly. Jack calls you ‘Poppa’.”

“On and off starting after the divorce.” And Rossi remembered the Chester Hardwick case, tales of Hotch starting to strip down for a fight (possibly to the death), and Reid being Reid, talking, stalling, running out the clock until help arrived, probably saving them both, and Hotch, attracted to the kid to start with, reeling and raw from his divorce (Reid was the first one he told when it was finalized, that night on the drive back) had *needed*, and there was no way Reid hadn’t been aware.  
As if to confirm, Reid continued: “On the way back from the Chester Hardwick case, he told me about the divorce. I asked him if it was what he wanted; he said ‘what he wanted, he couldn’t have’. Maybe I was misinterpreting that, read too much into it, but he sounded so… broken and bereft, and I couldn’t…couldn’t let him be alone. I went to him at his motel room that night. “

Dave nodded, a theory confirmed. He recalled the contents of Reid and Maeve’s letters, handed over when she was kidnapped, saturated with a cerebral eroticism, a bold certainty of intent from both writers, and he had no doubt about who had made the first advances in this … whatever it was with Hotch (reserved, private, stern, proper Southern up-bringing Hotch; no fucking way had he ever made a pass at a subordinate). 

“It was a casual thing at first, but as it started to develop into something more… Foyet.” Rossi watched this brilliant mind fumble and search for words, fail to find them. “Happened. And Haley. And something in Aaron *died*, and he just… couldn’t. His sole focus for what was left of his heart had to be Jack. And I understood. Jack comes first. 

“And then there was the thing with Prentiss, the deception, he had let me grieve for her, he and JJ, let me believe she was *gone*, *dead*, we buried her, after he had gone through that with Haley, he let me go through that with Emily, and after *that*, I just… *could not*.

“And then there was Beth,” and Rossi winced, he had encouraged that, almost bullied Aaron into that one, literally right in front of Spencer. Reid continued: “And then Maeve.” Another failure of words. Rossi shook his head. And now this, losing Aaron, after losing Maeve, the way he lost her, lost Aaron. He was in awe that Spencer could function at all. 

After a long pause he continued. “And we simply didn’t, after that. I was still part of Jack’s life all this time, babysitting, sleepovers with Henry, but Aaron and I …were…Hotch and Reid. 

“And then Peter Lewis, ‘Mr. Scratch’. I overheard Aaron talking to you about what- - what happened, and…he was so broken , and fragile, and I couldn’t, I just *could not*--“ Reid’s voice broke on a sob. 

“You couldn’t stay away,” Rossi finished for him. 

“I went to his house that night, once he got back from the hospital, and it was a good thing I did. Jack opened the door-- at three in the morning, mind you -- and every light in the house was on, and Aaron was trying to sleep in all his clothes, his shoes, his tie, his *FBI vest*, and yes, his *sidearm*, to be prepared for…for …fuck knows what to come crashing in while he’s sleeping. 

“I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t leave Aaron alone, couldn’t leave Jack alone with him, not when I saw that.”

“No, of course you couldn’t. Not as a friend, or a lover, or a father.” Reid got very quiet again, his gaze very far away, for a very long, devastated moment. Then he visibly broke into pieces, barely restraining his sobs. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t - - “ he swiped at his face with his arm. “I couldn’t save him, they took him. I couldn’t - - Jack- - I fell asleep in Jack’s room. We were making plans for a tree house- - “ Reid started to choke on his sobs, losing the fight for control of his words. Rossi had nightmare images filling his mind, filling the blanks already. Strangers- - professionals- - cutting power and phone lines, sneaking into the house, into the bedrooms, hard hands on Reid and Jack in one room, Aaron in another, Reid putting himself between Jack and danger, Reid in a *fist fight*, dear God. And somehow he had gotten ahold of his gun, too. And Reid was breaking wide open now, and Rossi decided Reid’s story could wait, Rossi could read the fucking reports and statements and see the crime scene himself. Reid needed to focus all his attention now on *his son*. He was a father now, Jack’s Poppa. 

“I’m so fucking useless! I couldn’t help him! First Meave, now Aaron- - “

Rossi reached over and squeezed Reid’s hands. Tight. Tighter. “Spencer. None of this is your fault. Jack is still here. You need to be here for Jack.” 

Reid nodded through a sob. Rossi lead him upstairs and helped him find Jack’s room, helped him settle in. Rossi didn’t think either of them could really sleep at this point, but they needed to be with each other. 

Rossi found a bathroom and splashed water on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror for a long time. He tried to remember a time when he felt this much failure as a leader, a protector, and friend, and he couldn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not the first to imagine Hotch’s PTSD manifesting as described here. I recall something similar in a Hotch/Reid fic I read years ago; after a dark beginning it became a much lighter story with a terrific Rossi-as-reluctant-matchmaker. It’s not on AO3, I can’t remember the author, title, or where I found it, but possibly somewhere on LJ (I know, I’m a big help lol). But I’d really like to rec that fic and maybe ask the author to post it here. Anyone know which one I’m talking about?


End file.
